


Crime and Punishment

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Angry Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: And then it clicks. Johnnywantsit to hurt.Spoilers through 2.10
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 18
Kudos: 220
Collections: Amazing Fics I Like to Re-Read





	1. Chapter 1

It takes all night for Johnny to walk from the beach back to his apartment complex. He’s too drunk to read the street signs, weaving on and off the sidewalks. A few times, he has to stop and retch over a sewer grate. Alone in the dark, he wishes someone would mug him, give him a reason to fight, get hit, a purpose for moving. But nobody looks twice at the man in torn-up jeans, reeking of half the bar. The pathetic truth radiates off of him; there's nothing left to take.

The early morning sky is turning pale and pink as he pushes through the rusted-iron gate, dangerously close to sober. A hunched over figure is sitting on the step in front of his front door, leaning against one of the support beams in rumpled, dark clothes.

He rubs his bloodshot eyes, but even before he lowers his fists he knows he’s not seeing things. LaRusso. He looks like he's been there all night.

Daniel tilts his chin up and they stare at each other for a long time. A car horn blares down the street. Johnny pushes by him without a word, just like LaRusso did to him in the elevator.

When he tries to slam the door, a sneaker catches between it and the frame. Daniel follows him inside silently, and shuts the door gently behind him, like there's someone to wake. 

The window shade at the end of the hall was pulled up, casting the dirt and empty take-out containers in sharp relief of day. Johnny always kept them closed, a dark cocoon, so he didn’t have to look out at other people’s bullshit.

Miguel must've done it, when he came in with his key, looking for Johnny. Miguel is the one who was always trying to get him to clean up, air out, make this place look like an actual apartment. God, that kid, _his_ kid. 

There’s his fist, driving a knuckle into his sore thigh muscle until the pain drowns out all the words in his head.

When he turns around to face LaRusso, he's standing just a few inches away, close enough to feel his damp breath. There are red smudges of exhaustion under his eyes. His hands are hanging limp at his sides.

All the fight is drained out of him.

“Shouldn’t you be with your daughter?” Johnny says, finally. His voice is so small it shocks them both. 

Daniel shakes his head ruefully, looks up at the water stained ceiling. Johnny’s brain dimly chides him that he should be embarrassed of the place, of what he’s come to. But his ability to feel shame, feel _anything_ , had been numbed into submission about ten hours and a jumbo bottle of Svedka ago. So he just watches Daniel regard the place, settle into the stale air around him. He looks like he belongs here.

Daniel LaRusso shouldn't look like he belongs down in the dirt.

“Amanda is with her. She had a mild concussion, so they wanted to watch her overnight, but they’re gonna discharge her...soon.” He glances at the blank wall like there’s a clock on it. 

Johnny doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods. He wasn't sure they'd ever speak again.

LaRusso swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and he drags his hands down his face, fingernails leaving white marks. “What’s wrong with us? “We’re...God, we’re…”

“Fuck-ups,” Johnny feels himself nodding again. “Welcome to the bottom of the barrel, LaRusso.”

Daniel’s fists curl. He grinds his jaw.

There he is. Mad. The sight is thrilling, a hot liquid feeling that permeates the fog behind Johnny's eyes, filling the spaces between in bones and veins.

He remembers being seventeen, Kreese wrapping an arm around his neck and squeezing the air from his body while everyone just stared, horrified. He remembers being twenty, Sid bending him over the kitchen table and bringing a belt down on his ass for wrecking his brand new car because he couldn’t stop drinking for one goddamn night. He remembers being thirty-two, getting punched outside an Applebee’s so hard he lost a tooth and didn’t get it fixed for two years because his mom was dead and his son was alive and he’d failed both of them.

He remembers looking up at Danny, with blood coming out of his nose. 

The same thought pounding through his head, every time he touched the bruises or welts or the gap in his teeth. Steady as a heartbeat. _You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this._

So Johnny strikes. First, hard, to get what he deserves.

“Seriously,” he spreads his arms out. _Come and get me._ “All that work and you’re right back where you started.”

It works. LaRusso is _on_ him, rushing him back hard against the wall, banging his own shoulder and cringing. His hands are balled up in Johnny’s t-shirt, and their hips and chests are flush against each other and the sides of their shoes are rubbing, and it’s too _much_ , everything is _too much._

Daniel presses his face into Johnny’s neck and _bites_ , sucking hard. Johnny closes his eyes, reaches down and guides LaRusso’s hand up to his hair. He responds automatically, laces his fingers through the sweaty mess, yanks a chunk so hard Johnny’s chin dips. 

The pain sears his scalp. He drops his hands to Daniel’s hips, snakes a pinkie through his belt loop, and pulls him in close, grinding against him. As soon as he feels a stirring, he unbuttons Daniel’s suit pants, squeezes him through his navy briefs until there's nothing half-mast about his cock.

“Do you match your panties with your shirts?” He asks, and Daniel inhales sharply, tightens his legs around Johnny’s. He can feel the fabric getting damp with precome and removes his hand. “Keep it together, LaRusso. You better not be a two-pump chump.”

Daniel’s grip tightens. The hickey he left is starting to ache. Johnny needs another one. “You’re...you want me to…?” 

Johnny pulls him in closer, arm around his waist like they're dancing. “Need an engraved invitation to stick your dick somewhere, LaRusso?” He flexes his hips, and he’s starting to get painfully hard in his jeans. “Or am I just gonna get you macking on me like a teenager?”

Daniel slowly leans down and sucks another hickey, high on Johnny's neck, where there's no chance of hiding it with band t-shirts and flannels. He sucks until he feels Johnny's knee buckle underneath him, and he takes his hand off the small of Daniel's back to brace himself against the wall. 

Then he lifts his head. "I think you're going to get whatever I decide you get, Johnny."

He presses his fingers against the bruise, and when Johnny winces, he feels an awful, sharp grin spreading across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more porn in the next chapter i promise


	2. Chapter 2

“You got– you know, supplies?” Daniel almost doesn’t get the question out, breathless, rubbing up against Johnny for friction. He’s blinking too much, scrambling. Someone trying to remember the steps to a dance they haven’t done in years. When Johnny doesn't answer, just brushes their lips together, he tries to ask in a language he'll understand, old school slang. “XY Jelly or something?”

“Don’t use that crap with me,” Johnny mumbles into his mouth. The stale smell of beer on his breath is strong enough to make Daniel’s eyes water. “I don’t want it.”

“Have you ever done this before?” He asks slowly. The image of Johnny on his back, being vulnerable and calm enough to let someone else in like that is so ludicrous would make laughter tickle his throat in another circumstance. "You need to..."

Those blue eyes turn sharp, and he knocks their foreheads together. 

“Fuck _off_.”

Daniel’s forehead stings in the spot where their skulls hit. Rage spikes again, through his exhaustion. He slams Johnny’s wrists against the wall, feels his leg jump, thigh brushing against Daniel’s hip. 

“Can you stop with the macho bullshit? It’s not like in porn, you can't– just– ram it in!” His face warms, and he hates Johnny for making him crude, graceless, everything he’s spent the last thirty years trying to scrape off his skin and clothes and accent.

Johnny’s eyes are still like knives. “You think I’m a moron? Just _do it._ ” 

And then it clicks. Johnny _wants_ it to hurt. For it to be rough, bruising.

Punishment. 

Daniel sighs, relaxes his arms, but still keeps a loose grip on Johnny’s wrists. He tips his head into the skin of Johnny’s neck, nosing the purpling hickeys he left there.

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Pussy,” Johnny snaps, and tries to throw Daniel off of him, but he’s not a scrappy little kid anymore, and he stands his ground, slamming him firmly back against the wall. 

“Interesting choice of words for the guy so eager to take it up the-”

Johnny wrests free and punches Daniel in the face. Daniel drags him down to the floor, and for a second they’re blindly grappling on the floor, not karate, not even jiu-jitsu or krav maga – just flailing and kicking like wild animals. 

Someone gets a leg hooked behind someone’s back, and they end up smashed against the bottom of Johnny’s couch, scratches on his chin, a bruise forming on the side of Daniel’s nose. His ankle feels twisted, and Johnny’s breathing hard. 

They’re too old for this.

“Can’t believe you scratched me,” Johnny says, touching his cheek. “The _girls_ in my class don’t even…” he fades off, letting the silence finish the sentence. He doesn’t have a class anymore. Neither of them do. Everything is gone.

 _He’s still so handsome_ , Daniel thinks in spite of himself. Even with the scrapes, the heavy years on his skin. Thick blonde hair that somehow looks better the messier it is, curling a little where it gets long over his ears. Those big hands, chest like a wall. 

He wants to be taken apart. And Daniel knows - can feel it in his bones – he is the only one in the world who can do it right.

“I need a drink.”

“You’ve had enough,” Daniel says. “For a lifetime.”

Johnny picks a Coors can off the ground nearby and tips it into his mouth, but only a few drops come out. Daniel grabs his wrist as he goes for another one. Johnny stiffens. 

“C’mere,” he says, and tugs Johnny on top of him, into his lap. The torn knees of his jeans sink into the carpet. “Up, on your knees.”

He gets Johnny’s boxers and pants down, his cock springing out, red and hard. Daniel grabs his chin when he tries to cut his eyes away, glare at the legs of the coffee table. “Hey, look at me. _John._ ”

He doesn’t know why he called him that. He'd never even heard teachers use anything but the stupid nickname that was somehow longer than his actual one. Johnny’s skin flushes pink, just a little. Daniel decides it was a good move.

"Come on, John." He holds out his middle three fingers, presses them against Johnny’s lips. "Open up. _Now_."

Johnny chews on his lip for a second. And then he parts them, leans forward and sucks Daniel's fingers until they’re wet. He lets his other hand skim down Johnny's spine. When he squeezes a fistful of his ass, he actually hums, hollows out his cheeks around his fingers.

“Not so tough now, huh?” Daniel’s usually pretty quiet during sex, but it comes out without thought. Johnny’s eyes narrow, and his teeth scrape against Daniel’s skin as he pulls his head back.

“That good enough for you, Danielle?” he says, and _fine_. He grabs the neck of Johnny’s t-shirt and forces him up a little, high on his knees, and jams one, two fingers into his entrance without a beat in between. 

Johnny grabs onto his shoulders too hard, dropping his head against Daniel’s. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“You wanted this,” he hisses against Johnny’s ear, twisting his fingers, pressing down. He adds a third. Johnny touches the hand still cupping his ass, pushes on it. Daniel squeezes, digging his fingernails into the curve of his flesh.

There’s a pang in the pit of his stomach. Johnny’s so _tight_ , it’s too rough _,_ he isn’t this man. But just as he flexes his fingers at the knuckles, trying to pull out, those big hands are laced together around the back of his neck. 

“Don’t stop,” Johnny says. And he _kisses_ him, deeper than Daniel would think someone like him was even capable of. He pulls back and his lips look redder. “Do not fucking show me mercy, LaRusso.”

“John–”

“I said what I fucking said.” His eyes – he’s _terrified,_ and furious. Like that kid sprawled out on the pavement, gasping for air. "Harder, now."

Daniel removes his fingers fast – another stifled gasp. "How 'bout you shut that pretty-boy mouth or you don't get anything?" 

And man, does he wish he could send a photo of Johnny Lawrence's flushing face to his teenage self.

He manhandles Johnny by his hips, lining him up over his own cock. His interest hadn’t exactly been flagging, but pushing into Johnny, so hot and tight and too fast, he's hit by a wave of arousal strong enough to make dark spots dot across his vision. 

Johnny grunts, clinging to him harder. His eyes squeeze shut. Daniel thrusts up, into him, and Johnny buries his face in Daniel’s neck, hands curling at the ends of his dark hair. 

"Feeling good?" Daniel can't help but smirk.

“Shit,” Johnny mumbles, so soft their breathing almost covers it. Daniel pushes into him deeper, bottoming out, and starts to rock. And Johnny moves with his thrusts. “Shit, Danny.”

Neither of them last very long. Johnny’s come stripes the bottom of his button-up, which is already ruined with sweat and hospital germs. Daniel can feel himself softening, but doesn’t pull out right away. He knows these things lean towards tender even under the best of circumstances, and these certainly aren’t that. 

Johnny still won’t lift his head from his neck. His weight is starting to make Daniel’s legs feel numb, now, but standing up, stopping touching him, seems impossible. He just sighs, rubs Johnny’s bare thigh. 

“You called me _Danny_ ,” he says. Not trying to tease, but the lilt of his accent makes it sound like a jab anyway. “Don’t think anyone but my Ma's called me that in thirty years.”

Johnny raises his head, squinting at him. “Can we please not talk about your fucking _mom_ , LaRusso?"

Daniel raises his leg, nudging Johnny, who looks determinedly up at the ceiling as Daniel pulls out. As expected, his face twists as he tries to pretend he isn’t already sore. Daniel leans over and kisses the bottom of his jaw. He shivers a little, at the touch.

They’re quiet as they get dressed. Johnny peels off his flannel and gets on his hands and knees to wipe off the wet spot on the carpet. Daniel watches him, standing against the coffee table, hands deep in his pockets.

“Stop staring at my ass, perv,” Johnny says, without looking up. “You already blew your load.”

“You’re not gonna do anything stupid when I leave, are you?” Daniel asks.

Johnny sits back on his heels. He still looks tired, but maybe not so murderous. He shuffles forward on the carpet and puts a hand on Daniel's kneecap, the bad one, the one with scars and sciatica and thirty-four years of phantom pain shooting through it at moments like this. He rubs his thumbs over it slowly.

“Not gonna blow my brains out, if that’s what you’re asking.” Daniel keeps looking at him, knowing his expression is too open, too concerned-Dad. Johnny retracts his hand, and suddenly Daniel's skin feels cold. “Go see your kid. You’ve screwed around enough today.”

Daniel shakes his head, crosses the room and opens the door. The sunlight is harsh now, too bright. Back to reality. “Take a shower, John.”

As he steps outside, he sees Johnny inhale, deep enough to hurt, and then let it out slow through his mouth. “Worry about yourself, Danny.”


End file.
